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It is dusk and I am alone. The crowds are gone and the garden is empty, as it is only near the end of the day. There is a soft breeze, cool and fresh, blowing gently through the bamboo. It brings the scent of incense and moist earth and a sweet fragrance of late spring flowers. From my seat on the veranda my eyes drift across the lush, green cedar moss and then more intimately take in each rock and plant. There are small patches of moss growing about the bottoms of the rocks, and some of them have tiny yellow flowers that one could easily mistake for sunlight or miss altogether. Here and there lies a fallen leaf and a stone from the garden border that has drifted out of place. |